


Come Back to Sleep

by Face_of_Poe



Series: The Conway Cabal [8]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: (sort of?), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Family Fluff, Ficlet, Fluff, Gen, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-14 17:30:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16497050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Face_of_Poe/pseuds/Face_of_Poe
Summary: Gil Lafayette gets to sleep in for, quite possibly, the first time in eight years; promptly ruins everything.





	Come Back to Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> set immediately post-Washington presidency

Gil Lafayette wakes slowly, peacefully. A gradual slide from vague, semi-conscious dreams to reluctant awareness. The wind rattling the windowpanes, a reminder of the promised overnight blizzard. The rhythmic breathing of Addy behind him, and he rolls with a soft grunt and nuzzles into her neck, hardly minds the tickling strands of hair on his face because how rare this type of lazy morning has been so far in their marriage, with his job, with the twins, and –

“Mon dieu!” He sits up with a start; Addy groans and reaches blindly for his shirt to tug him back down.

The light coming through the curtains is muted, a testament to the promised storm raging outside, but it is undeniably well into the morning. He looks about for the clock; takes a moment to remember where it is, because this is not their bedroom, not their home.

_8:18_

“Addy, the girls.”

She makes an indistinct noise that might be questioning; or it might be simple annoyance. Gil wipes the sleep from his eyes and glances at his phone and tries to recollect the last time he woke up on his own time and not at the behest of an alarm or an emergency phone call, or the summons of their children.

When he doesn’t lie back down, Addy forces one eye open to glare at him and mumbles, “What about them?”

“Surely they can’t still be asleep.”

She fumbles about blindly for her phone; blinks blearily at the time, shrugs, and tosses it onto the comforter. “Coffee.”

“Hm?”

“I smell coffee. Someone’s up with them.”

He stares at her so long that she starts to drift back to sleep. “Sweetheart, our children are terrors, we cannot simply foist them on our unsuspecting hosts.”

The same eye cracks back open; the sheer volume of incredulity Addy manages to fit into that compact stare is truly quite something. “Honey – George has spent the last eight _years_ making life-or-death decisions _daily_. Don’t you think that maybe grandparenting on a snowy Sunday morning is like… the best time he’s had in -”

“They’re not their grandparents!”

 The other eye finally opens and her brows creep up. “Has anyone told _them_ that? Or the girls, for that matter?”

“…Point.”

He finally succumbs to her tugging at him and the sleepy pout in her eye, and settles in once more. Addy rolls onto her side and moves back against him, and he curls into her warmth. Wraps an arm around her waist and presses his lips against her shoulder, and then her neck, until she swats lazily at his hand and burrows more determinedly into the pillow under her head.

He chuckles and relaxes. Lets the last several years of complete and utter exhaustion carry him back into this unanticipated morning lie-in, and lord knows he’s woken up enough times to field calls and determine when they merited rousing the president in the middle of the night, and when they might be handled by staff until his usual 5:30 alarm and –

A familiar shriek echoes up the stairs, muffled behind the closed, heavy door. He tenses, and Addy clamps a hand down on his arm in warning.

“I will just go check in on -”

“They’re _fine_.”

“The girls? Or George and Martha?”

“ _Yes_.”

He sighs; and he tries, he truly does. But after another minute of fretting, he turns over and pulls his hand free. “I will go get coffee, and check on everyone, and come right back.”

_That_ finally gets Addy to wake up and sit up. “Don’t you _dare_ , Gilbert Lafayette.” His hands fly up in defense against her sudden ire. “The moment they see you, they’ll wonder where _I_ am, and it’s a miracle at all that George and Martha managed to get them out of their room this morning without a fit about it.”

“Do you intend to just hide in here all day then?”

She pauses and considers. “You think they’d go for that?”

“ _Mon dieu_ ,” he repeats in a sigh, and stands up and pulls on a sweatshirt.

 

He pads down the hallway and starts on the stairs. He can hear George’s low rumble from somewhere towards the back of the house, but the girls are suspiciously quiet, no patter of tiny feet darting about the place. At the bottom, he carefully avoids the bottom creaky step, turns in the foyer to continue his careful progress back towards the kitchen and –

“What is the _matter_ with you?”

He finds himself face-to-face with Martha, bearing a tray with two mugs of coffee and two waffles, some syrup, butter melting on the top.

“I - ”

“Well, _here_ ,” she shoves the tray in his hands. “Better make a break for it before -”

“ _Daddy!_ ”

Two overdressed toddlers come barreling down the hallway at an awkward clod of a pace in their snow boots, so bundled up in great padded coats that their arms practically stick straight out to the sides.

Gil hastily returns the tray to Martha and intercepts the first fluffball, and it speaks to just how thoroughly George has got them bundled that he can’t tell immediately that it’s Ginny in his arms. “Well, good morning.”

Annie grabs a fistful of his sweatpants and demands, “Where’s mommy?”

“ _Sleeping_ ,” Martha tells them sternly. And then smiles brightly at Gil and adds to the girls, “But since your daddy is awake, he can go play in the snow with you and George.”

The cheer that elicits would certainly wake anyone in the house who _was_ still sleeping. For all their excitement, Martha may well have just told them that he’d bought them their own ponies.

George comes meandering up the hallway at a more reasonable pace as he pulls on his gloves. “Sleep well?”

“I think I’m about to experience a very cold and rude awakening, regardless.”

Martha steps onto the creaky stair and gives him a smile that can only be described a smirk. “You’d best go bundle up then, dear.”

He stares at the tray in her hands with sudden, fierce longing. “And where will _you_ be?”

She nods up the steps, waits until George is ushering the girls out onto the snow-covered porch, and tells him wryly, “I guess I’m going to go have breakfast in bed with your wife.”


End file.
